


Endless Road

by Tarlan



Series: Endless Road [2]
Category: Century Hotel (2001), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Hewligan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-07
Updated: 2006-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael thought he would walk an endless road as he drifted from town to town searching for a place to call home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endless Road

As birthdays went, this was not the worst he had experienced in his thirty-one years but it was not one of the better ones either. The road ahead seemed to go on forever, with the horizon wavering as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Once more he was between towns and between jobs, never managing to stay in one place too long before something or someone forced him to move on. He knew his clothes were a little ragged now, his face covered in a seemingly perpetual three-day growth of beard, mostly because he rarely had the means, the inclination, or the water to waste on dealing with the stubble. He knew the whole effect made him look like a drifter, a bum, hitching rides on the back of trucks or the empty compartments of goods trains. He knew his chances of gaining a ride on the open road were close to zero while he looked like this. Few 'decent' folk would consider having him inside their car so the best he could hope for was a pick-up truck where he'd have to clamber up and sit with the livestock, feed or whatever else some rural farmer was carrying between home and market. Still, a ride was a ride, and a damn sight better than walking.

Michael stopped and sighed, wiping the back of his sleeve against his already sweating forehead. He uncapped the bottle of water and took a tiny sip, enough to wet the inside of his mouth, not wanting to waste too much this early in the day. He had seen a few farm buildings since he started out this morning and had, in fact, slept in one last night without the owner's knowledge. Of course, he'd moved on before the sun came up, having already made the mistake of being caught on someone else's land before now. Fortunately, most of the buckshot missed, with just a couple of pieces tearing into flesh.

Resettling his pack upon his shoulders, Michael began to walk on towards the distant horizon, barely noticing the limp anymore even though he knew it was quite pronounced to others. After almost seven years, the pain from his war injury had become a dull ache that barely registered to him now. A constant reminder of the war he had fought on behalf of his country, and a reminder of Danny.

Danny was dead, beaten and raped in prison until his body gave out, making Michael's eighteen months in prison, serving his sentence for sodomy, almost a walk in the park. Oh, he'd had his fair share of others forcing themselves upon him, taking his body in hard unwanted thrusts, his bad leg making it hard to run or fight back, but he had survived where Danny had fallen. Six months ago, he had found some small measure of closure, having spent the last of his money for a single night in the room where he had last touched his best friend - and lover. Danny and the scent of their lovemaking had long since vanished from the room but the memories remained as if they had seeped into the very walls. He had spent the night in that bed, recalling the feel of Danny's hands, the touch of his lips, the passion and the want. He had smiled in remembrance of the contentment, the satisfaction and pleasure at being reunited, and he had relived the horror of losing it all to a woman's scorn.

Now, four years since his release from prison, he was still wandering with no place to call home, knowing he would find no welcome from his father yet keeping in contact with his sister, and through her, with his mother. Danny's fiancée, Beth, had ensured that no one would speak to him or about him, except in disgust. She had sowed the seeds of her resentment, turning Michael into the betrayer, into the devil incarnate, and ostracizing even his family for a time but his sister, Georgina, had mentioned in her last communiqué that the worst seemed to have past, almost begging him to come home.

He couldn't. He could never go home.

The sound of an approaching car pierced his thoughts and he looked back along the road behind him to see the telltale dust plume. Michael stopped and waited, sticking out his thumb, but the car sped up rather than slowed down, choking him in a cloud of dust. He coughed harshly, grabbing his water and taking a quick mouthful, rinsing it around and spitting it out in disgust. He knew better than to get ill-tempered over a mouthful of dust so he clamped down on the annoyance and carried on walking, leaning heavier onto the walking cane. Perhaps there would be another soon and he'd have more luck with them.

Three hours and a dozen cars later, he was still limping along. In another hour, he would find some shade to wait out the worst of the sun, not wanting to end up exhausted and dehydrated, miles from anywhere. Then, if he had not found a lift to the nearest town by late dusk, he would camp out off the road for the night as he had last evening.

He snorted softly. His tour of duty during the war had been mercifully short and he considered himself one of the lucky ones that had survived Le Mesnil-Patry and made it back to Britain rather than die at the hands of the Germans like so many of his fellow Canadians. Still, he had sustained his leg injury as machine gun fire drove them back amid the ruins of what might once have been a beautiful town. Danny had carried him back to safety when the full horror of the failed assault had reached command and they ordered the withdrawal. However, Normandy and Le Mesnil-Patry had granted him one small mercy. He had at least undergone extensive training for war, learning how to live off the battlefield, and that had stood him in good stead over the past few years as he drifted from place to place.

Another car passed but it was heading back the way he had come so he ignored the driver who stared at him with narrowed eyes. The sound of the receding engine almost drowned out that of a car approaching from behind but he turned in time to stick out a thumb, unsurprised when the car went sailing past without dropping speed. This time, however, it did not carry on towards the distant horizon. This time it began to slow and finally pull to a halt. Michael licked his lips in contemplation, the adrenaline kicking in as he wondered if this was a genuine lift or a game. He'd had a few of those, young guys toying with him to impress their friends, waiting for him to catch up and then speeding away, their laughter drifting back among the dust plumes from their spinning wheels. One other time, the driver had turned out to be someone looking for someone upon whom he could take out the misery of his life, leaving Michael bloodied and hurt by the side of the road. Yet another had wanted a ride for a ride, and Michael had not been in a position to deny him the use of his body. At least he'd had a reasonably comfortable bed to sleep in that night at one of those drab motels that often appeared in the middle of nowhere between towns. The man paid for the room upfront and had been a lot gentler than his rapists in prison, promising to take Michael on to the next town in the morning.

He was gone before Michael woke but he'd had the decency to leave a few bucks to cover the cost of breakfast and to buy him a few extra supplies so Michael wasn't complaining. Michael had walked away from that encounter with a good night's sleep, a clean shower and food in his belly, which was far better than most days.

The car began to reverse, slowly eating up the distance between them and finally pulling to a halt just ten feet away. Michael limped up, heart in his throat for one moment at the familiar dark hair and lean frame. Danny? He hobbled a little faster but stopped abruptly when he saw where the similarity ended despite the handsome face.

Not Danny. Danny was dead.

"Need a ride?"

"Errh...yes. How far are you going?"

"Couple of towns down the highway."

"That's great. Thanks."

Michael clambered into the passenger seat, glad that the windows were already wound down as there was nothing more embarrassing than having someone wrinkle up their nose and regret they'd ever let you into their car. The man glanced at him with interest as he pulled back onto the highway and picked up speed.

"Judging by the accent, I guess you're not from around these parts."

"No. I'm from up north."

"Canada?"

"Yes. Originally."

"Noticed the limp. War wound?"

"Yes."

"Europe?"

"Yeah. Le Mesnil-Patry." Michael frowned, wondering why he had offered that information. He had never bothered before but the man looked a lot like Danny with his hair mussed after some glorious sex. He had the same runner's frame though Michael could see dark chest hair curling through the v-neckline of his shirt where Danny had been smooth-chested.

Michael quickly averted his eyes when the driver glanced back at him again.

"So, where're you headed?"

"Here and there."

"Just drifting, hey?"

Michael remained silent, having no real answer to that question. He drifted because he had no place else to go, and nowhere to call home.

"Lot of guys started drifting after getting back. War changes people."

"Hmm."

"Hey, I'm sorry. You probably don't want to talk about this to a stranger." The man grinned, his smile lighting his whole face. He let go of the steering wheel with one hand and offered it to Michael.

"Robert Sheppard."

"Michael."

"Michael?" The question hung in the air and Michael felt a little uncomfortable. For a moment he considered giving a false name but then decided that it really did not matter any more. He had served his time and, as far as he knew, he had no outstanding warrants for his arrest in either the US or Canada.

"Allinson."

"So! Le Mesnil-Patry? I was in the Far East."

Michael found he had started to relax as Robert recounted some of his wartime exploits and yet he could feel an underlying tension about the man. He noticed the quick glances thrown at him from time to time, filled with curiosity and something more besides. Eventually, they reached what passed for civilization around these parts, a small township that boasted less than two thousand citizens. Robert parked outside a small diner and stared at Michael for a moment, deep in contemplation.

"Look like you haven't had a decent meal in days, maybe weeks."

Michael gave an embarrassed smile, averting his eyes from the diner where he could see people in window seats biting into thick slabs of bread covered in mopped-up egg while others talked around mouthful of succulent steak and fries.

"Guess you don't have much cash on you so why don't I treat you to lunch."

His pride wanted to say 'no' but Michael's stomach had other ideas, rumbling loudly as his memory supplied the taste to go with the aroma drifting through the diner's open windows. Robert slapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on."

Robert got out of the car and, with semi-reluctance, Michael followed, wondering what he would be expected to give in return for the meal. Part of him hoped Robert wanted the same as that other guy, a ride for ride, but it could be that Robert was just one of those nice guys that hated to see a fellow veteran suffering. He slipped into the booth opposite Robert and compromised on his pride by choosing something relatively inexpensive from the menu handed to him. The waitress gave him an odd smile as she wrinkled up her nose, obviously seeing the shabbiness of his clothing and smelling the stale sweat that clung to his clothes and body. Part of him felt ashamed but the rest was simply too hungry to care. He frowned at the size of Robert's order, wondering how the man hoped to eat that amount of food as he didn't exactly have a lot of space to put it into his leaner frame but when the food arrived, Robert pushed half of it across the tabletop.

"I got enough to feed the pair of us," he murmured to Michael.

"Oh... thanks."

It took all his control not to start shoveling the food into his mouth like a starving man yet he still heard a small chuckle from Robert, realizing he had closed his eyes to luxuriate in the wonderful tasting food filling his mouth and belly.

"Got a place to sleep tonight?"

Michael froze on a mouthful. He swallowed hard, wondering if this was a 'come on' or a genuine offer of a bed for the night. "Umm...not yet but I'm sure..."

"Got a small holding just beyond the next town. I can put you up for a few days if you're willing to help around the place some."

"Doing?"

"Just some light chores. Help me paint the porch, feed the chickens."

It didn't sound so bad and Michael was in dire need of a place to stop for a while, to give him time to rebuild his strength before moving on again. He'd done this a few times over the years, taking on light work that didn't tax his leg too much and accepting a roof over his head, food in his stomach and a few dollars in his pocket in recompense. He nodded, smiling his thanks while a small part of him hoped this wasn't some sick trap by some psychopath looking for an easy target that no one would give a damn about.

They drove on for another hour, passing a smaller town that boasted barely five hundred citizens before Robert made a right turn onto a dusty track that led, eventually, to a small single storey house.

"So... you live here alone?"

"Pretty much. Had a wife and son but she upped and left me not long after I got back from the war. Took my boy with her." He glanced around the small room before pointing along the corridor and heading in that direction. "Guest room. You can stay here. Bathroom's opposite, and you're welcome to make use of the soap and razor but not my toothbrush."

Michael flushed in embarrassment. "Got my own in here." He patted his ragged pack.

"Good. Well. I'll leave you to get freshened up."

Michael dropped his pack onto the floor beside the narrow bed and rifled through for his few toiletries. When he left the room, Robert was waiting with a thick towel in his hand.

"Guessed you might need this. Take your time and have a long soak." He handed the towel to Michael and started to walk away, whistling quietly, but then stopped and turned back. "Leave your dirty clothes in a pile outside the door and I'll get them washed."

Michael stepped into the surprisingly modern bathroom and shut the door behind him, momentarily concerned when he realized it had no lock. Pushing that worry aside, he ran the bath, creating a generous amount of bath suds before stripping off his dirty clothes. Sticking his head out to take a quick glance along the corridor, he dropped them outside the door and darted back inside the steamy room. Sinking into the hot, soapy bath was a pleasure he had almost forgotten. He sank right down, dunking his whole head before sitting up and grabbing the shampoo. The relief was almost orgasmic, his fingers scrubbing away the dirt and dust that seemed to be embedded in his skin and scalp.

Several small knocks on the door brought him thrashing to awareness and he shivered in the cool water when he realized he must have fallen asleep.

"You okay in there?"

"Yes. I'll be right out."

Climbing out of the bath was a lot harder than he anticipated because of his injured leg but, finally, he was swaddled in the thick towel and stepping, hesitantly, into the corridor. His clothes were gone but there was a fresh set folded up on his bed. He pulled them on quickly and then followed the aroma of coffee to the kitchen. Robert pushed a mug across the counter towards him.

"Cream and sugar are over there." He nodded towards the small jug and bowl sitting close by but Michael ignored the cream in favor of several heaped spoonfuls of sugar. He'd become used to drinking his coffee black over the past years but knew he could do with the energy provided by the sugar.

They talked for a while as Robert outlined the chores he needed doing around the place. None of them were particularly arduous, so Michael wondered why Robert needed him to do them. It took another couple of hours before Michael started to guess the truth. Robert was lonely and Michael made for a companion for a short time, someone to talk to, who had seen the worst side of life and death in the war, someone to look at and care for. He could relate to that because the hardest part of these years on the road was the loneliness he felt even within the bustle of a town or city. Eventually, he retired to his room and sank into the comfortable bed, falling asleep quickly as the bright moon replaced the sun in the sky.

**

Very carefully, Robert pushed open the guest room door. The three-quarter moon shone through the window, bathing the sleeping man in silver rays, reflecting off sun-tousled hair. With his face softened in sleep, Michael looked far younger than Robert had at first believed. His lips were parted like a lover awaiting a kiss, the deep curve of long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as he dreamed. One hand was curled beside his face like a small child, adding innocence to his sleep-softened features.

Once more, Robert questioned his judgment in bringing this man home with him but there was something about Michael that tugged at his heart and conscience. The deep blue eyes held so much pain in their depths, the tilt of his mouth echoing a despair that Robert had sensed of tragedy in this man's life. Robert had seen so many soldiers return from the war with their eyes filled with the horror they had seen. His own experiences had driven away his wife, unable to understand the nightmares that had consumed him in those early years, unable to understand his need to seek out male companionship, wanting to feel strong arms surrounding him as he slept. After the fall of Hong Kong, he had spent several years as a prisoner of war, held in terrible conditions and used as slave labor by the Japanese. Every day he had watched men drop around him in the sweltering heat, exhaustion, disease and hunger their greatest enemy. Some never recovered, their bodies disposed of leaving an empty space in the ever dwindling ranks. He had witnessed atrocities, the Geneva Convention holding no sway over their captors. They had forced him to watch as men were beheaded for stealing a loaf of bread, or for allowing other men to bugger them.

It never stopped anyone from finding comfort in the arms of other men, or stopped them from touching intimately in the quiet of the night under cover of darkness. He had learned to fuck in silence, and to ignore the occasional soft moan of someone who had not quite learned that lesson, hearing their buddy clamping a hand across their mouth to shush them.

Softly, he crossed the room and looked down at the sleeping man, sniffing the air and capturing the clean male scent that had lain hidden beneath the stale sweat and dust from the road. He was about to turn away when Michael's eyes snapped open, pupils widely dilated. Robert froze with several explanations running through his head but none ever spilled from his mouth as Michael drew back the blanket and shifted across the bed, making room for him. Soft lips had parted, trembling slightly, eyes holding his warily as the invitation to lie with him was made, only to relax into relief when Robert pulled off his pajama bottoms and clambered in beside Michael.

The heat of Michael's body enveloped him immediately, strong arms wrapping around his shoulder and neck, drawing him down into a first touch of lips. Robert released the breath he had been holding as he melted into the kiss, slowly growing bolder as it progressed, and tongue sneaking out to caress and taste. He heard a soft moan, felt it vibrate between them as Michael clutched him tighter, hand sliding from Robert's shoulder to ass as he pulled Robert on top of him between his spread legs. Their hard cocks lay trapped between their close-pressed bellies, with tiny upward thrusts causing delicious sensations to ripple through Robert as he pushed back, his cock sliding against freshly perspiring flesh, smearing droplets of precome to ease the friction as he ground against Michael's firm belly, feeling his answering hardness.

He could hear Michael's ragged breaths, could feel them hot and heavy against his throat as their lips parted and slid away, head lowering so he could inhale the musky scent of sex and sweat pouring from their frantic bodies. A soft gasp and a flood of liquid heat between them heralded Michael's climax, and Robert followed moments later, his hands framing Michael's face, kissing him over and over while Michael's tightened around Robert's waist, keeping them locked together.

As the intensity faded, Robert let their kisses gentle, teeth tugging on a swollen lower lip in teasing nips before licking away the tiny hurt, tongue slipping inside the inviting mouth and feeling the reverberation of another soft moan of contentment.

A small push made him realize that his lover was uncomfortable beneath his weight and Robert slid off to one side, rolling onto his back next to Michael, joined at shoulder and thigh. He raised his forearm, planting it across his eyes to block out the moonlight, concentrating on his recovering breath and the warmth of Michael's body lying so close.

When he awoke many hours later from the best sleep he'd had in years, the sun was up and Michael was gone.

Robert pushed up from the bed slowly, fingers smoothing the rumpled sheets and finding no warmth from where Michael would have lain. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered if that was for the better but, when he closed his eyes, he saw the handsome face with those big, sad blue eyes; saw the twitch of that slightly crooked mouth as Michael tried to hide a smile. Breathing in deeply, he could still smell the musk of their lovemaking, the tang of semen and sweat and some other indefinable scent that stirred his body once more.

He thought about the war, recalling the terror of battle and the horror of the POW camp, of the hot sun blazing down, the humidity and the buzzing of blood-sucking insects. He heard the whimpers of men who could struggle on no longer, unable to help them as they slid to the ground in defeat. He recalled the loneliness of coming home from the war, remembered the small, weak arms of his wife that made him feel so insecure. All of that fear and loneliness had faded away last night in Michael's arms. The nightmare of tall grass and humid forest had been replaced by images of open fields and bright woodlands, and the scent of Michael's body had overpowered the stench of fear, death and disease.

He had known Michael for less than a day and yet he felt safe with him and, given time, maybe even loved by him too.

Given time.

With his decision made, Robert scrambled out of the bed and washed quickly, pulling on yesterday's clothing as he hurried out of the house to the car. His mind was already turning over words, trying to find the key that would open Michael's heart to him and bring him back. As he gunned the engine, he had already decided to head in the direction Michael had been walking when they first met for some instinct told him that Michael rarely looked back these days. He slowed as he reached the junction of his single track with the highway, trying to guess how far Michael could have limped while secretly praying he had not found a ride.

As he checked along the highway before turning out of his road, a small movement caught his eye.

Once again, Robert froze, eyes taking in the hunched up figure with his back turned away and head hanging low. He switched off the engine and slowly eased out, clicking the door shut quietly before making his way over to where Michael sat in silence. Robert sank down beside him, leaving but a few inches between them. He picked up a blade of grass and chewed on it thoughtfully, waiting for Michael to speak first. He did not have to wait too long.

"My clothes are still damp."

"You should come back and let them dry. Wouldn't want you to catch your death of cold."

"Hmm." The silence stretched again as Michael continued to stare down the seemingly endless highway.

"I've still got a porch that needs painting, and chickens to feed. If you're interested."

"For how long?"

"I don't know." Robert sighed awkwardly. "For as long as we want?"

"For as long as they'll let us," he whispered, and Robert understood, knowing there was a story behind those softly bitter words.

"They don't get a say in it here."

Michael turned his head and stared at Robert, eyes bright with dawning hope. He nodded, looking up as Robert regained his feet and offered Michael a hand. He pulled Michael up against him, one arm wrapping around the smaller man to steady him as he led him back to the car. Once they were both inside, Robert cradled Michael's face in both of his hands and leaned forward, pressing his lips against the soft mouth and smiling as long eyelashes fluttered over those beautiful blue eyes in acceptance.

"Let's go home."

"Home?" Michael frowned and then the lines of confusion smoothed away, leaving a small smile curving his lips. "Home," he repeated softly.

***

Robert leaned forward from his seat on the porch swing as the plume of dust from an approaching car appeared on the horizon. He frowned, removing his hat and running a hand through thinned, white hair. The car pulled up in front of the house, the engine cutting out and the driver's door opened. A young man stepped out, his thick dark hair standing up messily and with aviator sunglasses balanced on his nose hiding his eyes but Robert did not have to guess at who this stranger might be. The similarity between this man and his younger self was uncanny, like looking into a mirror reflecting the past, so he took a guess.

"Johnny?"

The man removed his sunglasses and cocked his head to one side as he eyed Robert carefully, a smile twitching on his lips as he approached. Robert allowed the scrutiny, knowing this was the first time they had ever met.

"Robert Sheppard?"

Robert grinned. "Sounds better than 'Grandpa', son."

John grinned, turning slightly to tap on the passenger window, indicating towards the man still seated inside. The door opened and Robert's heart caught in his throat as a man so reminiscent of his Michael stepped out, perhaps a little stockier and with finer hair but he had the same wide blue eyes and that slight downturn to his mouth. Robert swallowed hard against the returning memories; of making love to Michael on the sweet meadow grass; of skinny-dipping in the small pond on the other side of the house; of days and nights spent in each other's arms, talking and caressing, never tiring of each other's company as the decades rolled by.

"My friend... Rodney McKay."

"Pleased to meet you."

Robert nodded, eyes crinkling up at the Canadian accent. He had never healed the rift between him and his own son, especially once Michael became a part of his life. Their few meetings had been tainted with harsh words of disgust and condemnation, with a refusal to allow him to even contact his only grandson lest he contaminate him too. Now he wondered if the same abhorrence to his choice of life partner might have caused the rift between that father and son too. He felt old enough now to take a risk or two, eyeing the pair mischievously.

"Looks like we have the same taste in men, son." He grinned at the two sets of upraised eyebrows. "Come on in."

Robert opened the door wide and stepped in ahead of John and Rodney.

"Michael! We have guests..." He turned to Rodney. "You know any Allinsons'?"

Rodney's mouth twitched into a so-familiar smile. "As a matter of fact I do..."

THE END


End file.
